


Thief

by anoetic



Series: Genet [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoetic/pseuds/anoetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet another flower that I've bloomed for my Parisian vagabond, Jean Genet.</p><p>“For you yourselves are fully aware that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thief

I am a designated seed in your tongue, implanted, serenaded, a mother’s sewn warning stitched between your eyelids. Still you haunt for me, disappearing children, girls develop ghoul legs, spirits burst through their mouths, their words are invisible honey suckle wine that has been aged between their legs. Could you count the number of times my name has flickered through the smoke? How have you searched for me? Because my legs are made of spider’s silk and I will burn underneath the street lamps that illuminate your hallway.

Will you step forward? Your breath is hollow, like spit down my throat. Come here, come here baby boy, and let me kiss you. Still young, young as the magic dust of unclothed innocence. You see my skin like the secret gust of wind that swallows our curtain. What language is that? Why can I not understand what the wind is saying to me? That is because I am in France and I do not speak French.

Come deeper into the mound of sighs that make up your heart break and you will see a willow tree that was stunted by your mouth. You had carved me up and now my leaves bear fruit that is full with worms, could this be your promise to me? You had slept in that tree, leaving your slime, your guts, your froth and sex like spoiled milk down my wooden thighs.

For this treason, my lips are determined to administer a linear sort of sadness against your spine. Down every curve of your bones I will bless you with a curse.

You still stand underneath the rosebush knowing that my ghost sleeps there. Are you sure that your lungs are willing to transcend the vertigo of combustion? 

Like the lithium song that was mumbled together with the moonshine of your spittle and the lewdness of your open mouth I was reborn, but my body was incomplete, beautifully sculpted with the downy skin of ancient vines and budding flowers.

A puddle of snow has melted into a different season but still you are asleep, your veins mapping your skin and now I want to dissect your heart beats, eat your oxygen so that every time I cough, a little bit of your heart dribbles onto my hand. You will become my love letter.

Thief is a word that that unleashes a divine arousal between my teeth, iron and mushrooms bloom from my gums and my hands dig deeper into your treasure chest, robbing you not because you have asked me to, but because I know that you will love me all the more.

In secret, my blood is identical to that of twin bodies, but I have not created you to be my lover for your mouth does not totally fit between my ribs.

The day is pregnant like the voices that you had boiled for me, dolly limbs skinned like butterfly wings nestled inside whale blubber; this is the story that you had wrote for me.

Night comes and I tickle your throat. I kiss you once to admire you, twice to seduce you, thrice to betray you. I tell you that I love you and you will believe it.


End file.
